


What It Takes for Lips to Touch

by TheWritingSquid



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: F/M, Near Kisses, Nerokiri Baby OC (Madeleine), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wedding Fluff, jumps around the timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:07:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23328997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingSquid/pseuds/TheWritingSquid
Summary: Nero and Kyrie are lucky to have each other, but when it comes to kisses, their luck seems to run out.--A series of small extremely fluffy NeroKiri fics written forToni's birthday ~.
Relationships: Kyrie & Nero (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 65





	1. The Attempts

** No Smoke Without Fire **

Eggs, flour, brown sugar, baking soda, a mix of chocolate chips and dried cranberries, and a touch of Kyrie’s magic--that was the recipe to the best cookies in all of Fortuna. Nero recognized the spread of ingredients the moment he slipped into the kitchen, and warmth spread through his tired muscles. It’d been a long day clearing out new packs of demons crawling out of Mithis Forest, threatening the houses at the edge of it. Even with the main hell gate closed, the Order’s bullshit had opened so many small cracks, demons still haunted the island. With Dante, Lady, and Trish gone, it’d been up to him and the fractured remains of the Order to keep the population safe--so mostly him, really. Coming home to the love of his life baking cookies he’d learned to cherish was a balm on his weary heart.

Kyrie herself was standing in front of the oven, her auburn hair flaring red in the setting sun’s shining. The light bathed her like a halo and her voice rose in the kitchen, the notes dancing in perfect harmony--the sound of home at last. Nero smiled, frozen in the doorway for a few seconds as he listened to her, soaking in the rare moment of contentment. They’d become all too rare since Credo had left them, his absence a jarring hole in their routine they hadn’t quite learned to fill.

“Scrumptious Kyrie Cookies?” he asked, hoping to shake off the gloomier thought with conversation.

Kyrie startled and whirled to face him, surprise giving way to a bright smile. “In the oven!” She skipped across the kitchen and reached for his hands, but stopped herself short as she spotted the blood on them. “You have just enough time to wash, Mister Demon Grime.”

Nero pouted. He wanted to feel her hand so bad, to let her soft skin ground him in the present, make him forget everything else. The last two months still felt like a dream--or nightmare, really--but Kyrie… Kyrie was real. Unfortunately, Kyrie was also intractable when it came to blood in the house, so he sucked it up.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

He scrubbed himself clean in their rickety ass shower, grumbling as the warm water went missing after a handful of minutes, then hopped into clean underwear and pants. Every shirt he got his hands on was a mess of sweat, blood, and tears, though, and after a moment, he gave up on this impossible quest and mentally promised himself to wash some later. If he didn’t, Kyrie would, and he hated how much of Credo’s household chores she’d taken upon herself.

As if to prove him right, she had moved to the living room, settling into the loveseat with one of his ripped pants, a sewing needle, and thread. Nero stopped in the doorway with a frown.

“I can fix it myself,” he said.

“Oh, I know,” Kyrie answered, her focus entirely on the work before her. “But I had time, and mine are more solid, so I thought--oh!”

She’d lifted her head as she spoke, and her gaze snapped to his bare chest. Kyrie’s cheeks reddened, and then so did his. He hadn’t really thought--but now that she was so red… and wouldn’t stop _looking_ …

“Y-you seem to have forgotten a step,” she mumbled.

He cleared his throat and attempted a casual shrug. Nothing weird here. Kyrie’s eyes on him didn’t make his skin burn at all. “Couldn’t find a clean one. I’ll fix that tonight. Sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize.”

The words seemed to startle even herself, and she grew an even deeper shade of red then hurriedly returned her attention to her sewing. Silence stretched between them, but every few seconds, Kyrie glanced back up--which repeatedly caused her to prick her finger. His earlier desire to feel her fingers on his skin jolted back through him, multiplied by her embarrassed peeking. These days, most of the physical contacts he got were knights jostling him with whispers of “freak” and demons doing their best to spill out his innards. He had only one friend left on this accursed island, or at least only one who dared to make it known, and he had never dreamed so hard of their lips touching.

Nero gathered his courage, trudged up to the loveseat, and plopped down besides Kyrie. He put on his best game smile (and oh Saviour, he probably looked like the biggest dork) and he leaned in, wrapping his big hand over her much smaller fingers.

“No apologies?” he asked, wincing inwardly at the suggestiveness in his tone.

Kyrie’s eyebrow raised and she lowered the pants, setting down the sewing needle completely. Her cheeks burned bright--brighter than her hair in the flaming sunset--and she smiled back. “This is your home. You should be comfortable. And…” She leaned against him ever-so-slightly, and Nero could have sworn his heart would burst. “I like it.”

This had been a bad idea, if solely because he would die before the end of it. He managed to smile, but Kyrie was turning more fully to him, and she was _so beautiful_. Pure awe filled every inch of his body and soul, vibrating under his skin.How was he supposed to manage words at all? All that made it past his lips was a stiff, awkward laugh. Nero squeezed his eyes shut, half-cursing himself, and leaned his forehead against hers.

Kyrie smelled of sunshine. He couldn’t think of another way to describe it. She smelled of the first days of spring, of freshly cut grass in a hot summer, of sharp light against the ice or soft glow through pale curtains. He soaked in it as one bathed in warm sun rays, relaxing in her presence.

The fabric of her wide sleeve brushed against his chest. A shiver ran across his skin, the delightful tickling sensation tickling him, cutting his breath short. Kyrie’s hand cupped his cheek, warm and steady, her skin soft on his, so very gentle. He leaned into it as her thumb drifted across it, his eyes fluttering open. She was so close, her eyes shining, fixed upon his own. He smiled--a tiny, shy affair, inadequate to the turmoil inside. Kyrie smiled back nonetheless, tightening her grip, pulling him closer, his lips drifting towards hers. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the next second, lips finally joined into a kiss and--

The fire alarm blared through the house.

They jerked back, the loud screeching ring shattering the moment, and Kyrie scrambled out of the loveseat with a horrified gasp.

“The cookies!”

Dark smoke drifted out of the kitchen. Nero’s cheek felt cold where Kyrie’s hand had been less than a second ago, and flat disappointment filled his stomach. Another time, he promised himself, his heart still hammering in his chest, his whole body yearning. Just a kiss. That’s all he wanted. How hard could it really be?

With a sigh, he pushed himself out of the sofa and followed Kyrie to the kitchens, to deal with the burned cookies situation.

* * *

** The Intruder ** [ [Illustrated by CherryVane]](https://twitter.com/cherryvaneart/status/1248568157133996034?s=09)

Kyrie’s eyes fluttered open, the sun’s warmth on her skin welcoming her back to consciousness after a long night. She found Nero’s bright blue eyes on her, gaze as soft as the smile curling his lips. She blinked away sleep’s cobwebs, smiling right back at him. He always did that, in the morning--just stare at her as she slept, like he couldn’t imagine a better way to spend his time. At first she had been horribly embarrassed, but as demon hunting took Nero away more and more often, she’d grown to cherish those small moments, and the hundred of little things Nero did at home that made her feel so beloved. Between the orphans and Madeleine, quiet moments of peace had made themselves scarce.

Nero’s hand slid out from under the cover, slowly, as if not to disturb the morning’s peace. He brushed a strand of her hair back, and if it hadn’t been for the warm weight against her own arm, Kyrie would have reached out and flattened the disheveled and delightful mess that was his own hair every morning. Even so short, it always looked like it wanted to go every which way.

The glint in Nero’s eyes shifted, his fingers moving away from the strand, slipping behind her head. Warmth spread through Kyrie as she recognized his intent, and she tilted her head up, more than eager for the steady softness of Nero’s lips. Daily life had turned into such a whirlwind, they forgot to pause and take time with one another. If they could grab this one kiss--just a few seconds to themselves, the blessed morning light witness to their love. Her smile widened at the thought, and as Nero pulled her in closer, she felt his warm breath on her lips.

The warm weight against Kyrie shifted, a tiny body crawling up the bed and slapping hands upon their respective faces. Nero jerked back in surprise and stifled a laugh as Madeleine’s head emerged from under the cover, her bed head just as terrible as her father’s. She’d fallen asleep between them the previous night, after two hours of endless crying that only their body could comfort. None of that distress remained now. She grinned at them with a proud “Bah!” and lifted her hands high with a giggle.

Kyrie exchanged a charmed glance with Nero and read in his eyes the same warmth she felt now. It had taken only a smile and a laugh, and Madeleine was instantly forgiven for her interruption. How could they ever hold anything against her?

Her arm now freed, Kyrie cupped Madeleine’s cheek and brought her in, pecking her cheek as Nero bent further down and placed a soft kiss on top of her head.

“Good morning, little lady,” Nero whispered, throwing his arm over the two of them and pulling them closer. Madeleine babbled at him, obviously pleased, and Kyrie nestled closer to her family and focused on the tiny hand now reaching for her hair.

This was good, she reminded herself. It was still time together, still a small pause in their frenetic lives, still the pleasant sensation of Nero’s arm around her. She would enjoy as much as she could--even if she knew without a doubt that Madeleine, in all of her baby wisdom, was mere seconds away from yanking her hair and putting an end to it all.

* * *

** Learning Patience ** [[Illustrated by HennaTheAntenna](https://twitter.com/hennatheantenna/status/1248435114842796039)] 

Where was this boy again? Had he slunk back into bed right after Credo had torn the blankets away from him? It was astounding how late Nero could sleep in if he decided he did not want to go out--and certainly, His Holiness’ mass held no interest to him. But today was the Festival of the Sword, and there was a limit to how much disregard for the faith Credo could permit from Nero before someone took real issue with it. They needed to be at their respective posts in ceremonial garb in time for the ceremony.

“Nero!” he called out. “It’s time to go!”

He was fully prepared already: shining boots, not a fold misplaced in the entire outfit, his beard freshly trimmed. A model for others to follow--as the Supreme General should be. Besides, the promotion was still too fresh. He could not afford mistakes. Sanctus had been clear: the next few months would be a test of his loyalty and faith, to judge whether he was worthy of Sparda’s true power. And Nero…

He loved Nero, had sheltered and trained him as a brother, but somehow the boy always managed to drag him into trouble. Perhaps that was just what little brothers were supposed to do. Certainly, _his_ still hadn’t replied.

“Nero!”

As reluctant as he was to step inside with his boots, Credo saw no other choice. He needed to fetch Nero. He stomped away from the door, irritation rising. If he found this kid sprawled across his bed with nothing but briefs on again… Saviour help him, even his patience had an end.

He took the steps two by two, his sword rattling against the wall as he climbed up the narrow and creaking stairs. Nero had the first room on the right, the smallest of the three--none of them had expected such a tall man to grow out of the scrawny boy they’d adopted, and Credo distinctly remembered his parents worrying that malnourishment might have stunted his growth. That _definitely_ hadn’t proven an issue, though raising Nero had brought on its share of challenges.

Credo stopped in front of the door, smoothed out his outfit as a way to calm his irritation, then set his palm against it and pushed. His heart hoped for the best, yet his mind readied itself for the worst.

That did not, however, prepare him for the sight ahead.

Nero stood in the middle of his room, clad in his full Order uniform-- _at least_. It sit perfectly on him, every crease placed with precision, every fold smoothed out, a real feat for which he’d no doubt received help, especially considering the perpetrator still held the front fold. Kyrie had pushed herself up on her tiptoes, and with Nero leaning every-so-slightly forward, it seemed obvious how he had chosen to thank her.

Credo’s lips pressed together, a smile threatening to break his severe composure. They had been inching towards this a little more every year--were, in fact, excruciatingly slow about it. He should let it happen, really, but Nero could use a lesson in patience, and Credo could not help but savour the sweet revenge for every morning struggling to push Nero out of bed and out the door. He wiped the smile off his face, clasped his hands behind his back, and cleared his throat.

Nero and Kyrie jerked back, their cheeks flushing a deep, pleasing red. Credo arched his eyebrows but only said, “We will be late, Nero. Make haste.”

He turned on his heels and strode away, his posture unchanging but his grin widening as he made his way down the stairs and heard, far behind him, the repeated whispered _shit shit shit_ of Nero scrambling to pick up his ceremonial sword and follow after him.


	2. Sealed with a Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 - In which their luck finally turns, and they seal their love with the best of kisses ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Illustrated by Labyeha ~](https://twitter.com/labyeha/status/1248443942065979392)
> 
> Bonus : I have recorded myself reading this one, so you can [listen to it](https://drive.google.com/open?id=1LTGVpABDDhQeLcpyiaXKXmf7AcY1FRjl)!

Every day, Nero’s gaze settled on Kyrie and he was stunned all over again by her beauty. Every day, he heard her laugh and sing and wondered how he’d gotten so lucky. Every day, she smiled at him and all that was wrong in his world righted itself. Every day, Nero concluded he couldn’t love her more yet found himself doing so.

Today, however… Today shattered all of his expectations. They had met at the start of the aisle, determined to walk it together towards their immediate family, and from the moment he had laid eyes on Kyrie, Nero had forgotten how to breathe. A constellation of freckles sprinkled her cheeks, her amber eyes shone bright, and he could have kissed her lips right here and now if it wouldn’t have ruined the decorum--and Nero figured, if there was one time in his life he oughta respect decorum, his own wedding had to be it, right? Kyrie wore a beautiful off-white dress with delicate golden threading--just enough to evoke Order fashion without ascribing uncomfortably to it-- and while Nero knew he cut a fine figure in his white tux with a blue rose, the sheer _perfection_ of her crushed his lungs.

She was divine, and he loved her, and--more stunning than anything else--she loved _him_.

He squeezed her hands, feeling the solid ring Nico had helped him craft pressing against his fingers, and he smiled at her. The priest’s words had gone into one ear and right out of the other, a pleasant droning he’d tuned out in favour of staring at the gorgeous lady about to become his wife. Nero bit back his impatience, pushing all of this nervous energy into a probably unsubtle shifting as he awaited for the fateful, long-desired words.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

 _Yes_. An honest-to-god chorus of angels rang through Nero’s mind. His hands trembled as he reached for Kyrie, brushing against her soft cheek, sliding into her hair. Now that it was time, he found he didn’t want to rush it. He wanted to savour this moment, to forever remember the queasiness in his stomach, the way every second stretched into eternity, how he so easily lost himself in Kyrie’s eyes.

Nero barely heard Dante’s “c’mon kid, get on with it” or the _oof_ of pain that no doubt followed Vergil’s reaction. Noisy, rowdy family, as always. But it didn’t matter, not now; the only thing that did was Kyrie. She tilted her chin up, lips parted.

Nero closed the distance, pressing his lips on hers, pulling her in as his left hand slid to her hip and held her close. He went slow, breathing in the delicate scent of roses and savouring the softness of her lips, her warmth against him grounding him when his whole heart and soul floated, light from undiluted joy. This was their moment, and he let every sliver of it sink into him, pulsing through his body, leaving behind the buzzing, pleasant sensation that this present would forever be their future.

They kissed long and hard, ignoring even the discreet cough from the priest. When they finally pulled back, Nero briefly rested his forehead against Kyrie’s, taking in her reddened cheeks and shortened breath, along with the wholeness of her beauty and kindness, and he smiled. The past had been a never-ending string of hardships, but if he had to endure each and everyone of them again to get to this present once more, Nero would do so in a heartbeat. He slid his hand in Kyrie’s, squeezing it as he tore himself away and back towards the priest.


End file.
